Just some quick thoughts before bedtime.
A friend of mine died a week ago. She was only 64 and had twelve children. Last night, I watched a video her family posted on her blog showing my friend throughout her lifetime. Sometimes she was thin, sometimes she was not.
But she was always smiling.
I imagine that her children and grandchildren and husband are grateful for every image they have of my friend. They don't care what size pants she wore or if she looked fat.
I thought of all the times I have declined to have my picture taken with my family. (Most recently, on Halloween.) I just hate how I look in photos so much that I can't bear to let the camera capture my image.
Today, though, I was at the zoo with my daughter and the photographer said, "Let's take your picture!' and my impulse was to decline, knowing how much I would hate to see how I look.
But I said okay and posed with my daughter. What if this were the last picture together?
So, that's something to think about the next time someone pulls out a camera and I run and hide.
Too much time has passed without any evidence of me living my life because I'm too vain to be photographed at an unhappy weight. It's silly, really. I'm fat whether or not I appear in a photograph.